


Cover Story

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans
Genre: Crossdressing, Gift Fic, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My friend Perky asked, a while ago, for Kon running into Tim while he's undercover--as a girl. And he liked that story so much that he asked for more. This is all of it. ^^</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perky/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Под прикрытием](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10439058) by [fierce_cripple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierce_cripple/pseuds/fierce_cripple)



“Hey, wanna da—wait. Ti—Robin?”

Tim whirls around, and his eyes widen, and then narrow, and he hisses, “Kon, what are you _doing_ here?”

“I was going to ask _you_ the same thing.” Kon's eyes travel from the carefully styled bob, to the long lashes and red-lipped mouth, to the—“Why do you have breasts?”

“I—” Tim rolls his eyes, which is sort of fascinating to see with all the eye makeup, and then grabs Kon by the front of his shirt and hauls him away from the dance floor and into one of the club's back hallways. “I am _undercover._ I am in the middle of a _bust._ Don't you have a test tomorrow?”

“I felt like dancing. How tall are those heels? Did you _wax_ your _legs?_ ”

“ _No,_ Kon, I'm _naturally hairless._ Of _course_ I waxed my legs, I'm supposed to look like a high school girl. Well, _Dick_ helped, but—that isn't the point! You shouldn't be here! I'm trying to _work!_ ”

“And I'm trying to have a little—”

He's cut off when Tim drags him down into an unexpectedly deep kiss, just in time for a few laughing drunks to stumble past them towards the back entrance.

Once they're gone, Tim lets go of him, rummages angrily in his clutch, produces a compact mirror, and fixes his lipstick. “Go _home,_ Kon. I'm trying to _work_ here, and _you_ should be studying.”

A toss of his bobbed hair and he's heading back for the dance floor, hips switching irritably in the skirt that Kon is having difficulty believing Batman made him wear. A girl flags him down with, “Hey, Tiffany! Who was _that?_ ”

“Just my stupid _boyfriend._ Forget him, I'm here to party.”

Kon shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs, not bothering to wipe the traces of lipstick from his mouth. “You know, I could totally fall for that girl.”

\--

A flyover of Gotham, just because he can't sleep, and Kon spots a head that looks familiar and he isn't quite sure from where. It's a girl, but not a girl he recognizes—not Stephanie, not Cass Cain, not any of the other women he knows, but familiar all the same, a pretty girl with bobbed hair and a really memorable shade of lipstick and...

...and it's Tim. He'd know that irritated look anywhere.

He considers just leaving it, because Tim's probably _working_ right now, he can't imagine his friend wanting to put on a skirt that short just for _fun._ Or...a shirt that tight, or heels that high, or _that_ much eyeliner, or—

And then of course Tim screams and renders the “maybe I should go” argument entirely moot.

Kon drops from the sky.

The fight's over before he's even _landed,_ and by the time he's got himself together enough to even say, “Are you all right?” Tim's already zip-tying the guy's wrists together and leaving him under a streetlight.

Tim looks up at him, startled, and then says, in quiet, level tones, voice still pitched carefully alto, “What are you doing here?”

“Helping _you._ ” Kon tries to avoid the urge to look him up and down. “You're wearing a skirt again.”

“ _Yes_ , Kon. It's a recurring disguise. If I don't maintain my cover it would look suspicious.”

“You look...pretty.”

“Thank you, Kon.” Tim purses his lips, looking annoyed, and then sighs. “Well, I suppose I was done for the night anyway. Give me a lift home?”

“Uh...sure.”

Tim even holds _on_ differently when he's dressed like this—still in-character, like the dedicated student of Batman's he is. He wraps his arms around Kon's neck, lets Kon hold onto his waist, and shrieks girlishly when they rise off the ground. Down the street, a couple of stray hoods cat-call, congratulating Superboy on his hot score, and he grits his teeth and ignores them, trying to focus on flying and not on the warm body in the circle of his arm.

They get to Tim's apartment, go in through the window, and Kon puts his friend down in the middle of his bedroom, feeling...a little overheated. Tim closes the blinds, businesslike, and then says, primly, “Turn around, I need to change.”

Kon turns and stares fixedly forward, suddenly uncomfortably aroused, trying not to let his super-hearing zero in on the sound of cloth sliding over skin as Tim pulls his shirt off over his head. A flicker, and he looks up at the mirror on the dresser and...

...and freezes. “Tim...”

“Yes, Kon?” In the mirror, Kon can see him raising an eyebrow.

“What...what are you wearing?”

“Appropriate underwear.” Tim twists to unhook the back of his bra, unhurried; the motion makes him thrust his chest out in a way that Kon finds more than a little obscene. Or maybe that's just his overactive imagination, because _Tim_ doesn't seem to think anything of it. _He_ just drapes the bra over the footboard of his bed and then looks up at Kon's face in the mirror again. “How else am I supposed to give myself breasts convincingly?”

“Um. Yeah, right, of course. Sure.”

Tim watches him for another moment, looking faintly amused. “You're not supposed to be watching me.”

“Shit, right, sorry—”

“But I suppose I won't stop you, if you _really_ feel the need. ...actually, come over here.”

Kon swallows hard. “Um. Ok?” Because, he thinks as he moves closer, they've changed in front of each other before, but this situation, this _outfit_ seems so alien that really, who can blame him for staring?

“And hold still.” Tim grabs his shoulder. “I don't want to fall over, and these shoes are _killing_ me.”

Kon finds himself staring fixedly at a point on the far wall as Tim pulls off one of his shoes. “So, um, what were you fighting tonight? That meant you had to be. You know. Dressed like that.”

Tim pulls off his other shoe, holding onto Kon for support, and looks at it contemplatively for a moment before tossing it into the corner. “In these heels? Not much. But we're trying to bust a human trafficking ring that's set up shop in the warehouse district. I was doing some recon.”

“Oh, ok—”

The words dry up in Kon's mouth. Now that his shoes are off, Tim's bent down and started...removing his stockings. Kon hadn't realized Tim was _wearing_ stockings. And his friend's taking his time about it, too, rolling down first one and then the other with a slow care that seems entirely unnecessary. The sight of his bare legs is somehow _completely_ different like this, made more vivid by the difference of circumstance.

Man, why's Tim got the heat turned up so high?

And...his jeans are too tight.

Tim moves away from him, which doesn't actually drop the temperature any, and takes out his earrings. “Her name is Tiffany.”

“Uh. Who?”

“The character, the girl. This outfit. Her name is Tiffany Bell.” He starts wiping off his lipstick, using a cotton ball and what Kon realizes after a moment is baby oil—it makes his lips glisten obscenely. “She's seventeen, but says she's twenty. She has pet mice, she hates geography class, and she loves to dance. She's got a boyfriend, but he's not around a lot.”

“She seems nice.” Kon blinks dizzily. “What's the boyfriend like, if he gets to date someone like her?”

“Tall. Broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes. Very handsome.” Tim smiles quietly at him, a secret smile, as he strips off his false eyelashes. “Very sweet, too, but he doesn't always catch on too quickly.”

A growing suspicion. “He sounds...familiar.”

“Well, I based him on someone you know pretty well.” Tim reaches for the zipper on his skirt, tugs at it, and frowns. “It's stuck. Unzip me.”

Kon nods and starts working on the zipper—there's fabric caught in the teeth, it takes a little picking at, and he's almost got it unstuck when he catches his own movement in the mirror out of the corner of his eye and things suddenly fall into place. “Wait.”

“Mm?”

His hands have gone still on Tim's waist. “This boyfriend. That this girl has, this girl you pretend to be. What's his name?”

“Well,” Tim says, looking faintly smug, “his _name_ is Conner, but mostly she just calls him Con.”

“His name is...you've been going around saying I'm your boyfriend?”

“You _did_ catch me off guard in that club. I had to tell them _something._ ” Tim looks up at him and says, innocently, “Are you going to unzip me the rest of the way?”

“Um, right, yes.”

The zipper's open, the skirt slides down Tim's hips, and Kon's brain is scrambled _yet again_ when instead of the fairly utilitarian underwear he's always seen his friend wear before—they've had to change in front of each other, it's happened—he uncovers silk edged with lace. And Tim leans back into his hands for a moment, eyes sliding shut, and says, “I can't really get away with my regular underthings in a skirt that short. It could blow my cover.”

Kon _can't_ say anything. Because he's a regular guy, he's looked at the models in the Victoria's Secret catalogue a few times, but until this moment it's never quite hit home that sexy underwear isn't there to conceal. It's there to _highlight._ Like, yeah, it's functional, but until this moment it's never occurred to him that it's designed to make you crave what it covers. The hot models aren't just there to be hot models wearing not much, they're hot models wearing clothes precision-engineered to make them look more naked.

Maybe he never realized it before because the hot models weren't really doing it for him. It took seeing someone he actually _wanted_ for him to get a clue.

Which.

Tim.

Is _that_ the word to use here? _Want?_

Oh, but he wants. He _wants._

His mind is a little blown. It's _very_ warm in here.

His hands are still on Tim, who finally turns away from the mirror to face him and says, “So. I don't especially feel like sleeping in this underwear, it's not really very comfortable. I'll see you tomorrow?”

Dry-mouthed, Kon says, “Or. I could stay the night?”

Tim raises an eyebrow, looking...pleased with himself? “You _could._ If you wanted to. Do you want to?”

“I...well, you've been going around saying I'm your boyfriend.” He _wants._ “I'd hate to blow your cover.”

“True.” Tim raises his arms and wraps them around Kon's neck, and Kon is getting increasingly frustrated with that pair of silk panties, because he'd _really_ like them to be gone now. Victoria's Secret models are nothing next to _Tim Drake_ and his slim muscles and his sly smile. “Then maybe you should kiss me before you get to see me naked.”

The last shred of nervousness in the back of Kon's head is what makes him say, “...I've already kissed you.”

“The time at the club doesn't count.”

“Why not?”

“ _I_ kissed you. I want _you_ to kiss _me._ ”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“It doesn't have to.”

“I've seen you naked before, too.”

“This is different.

“I...yeah, I guess it is.” Kon bends down and then pauses. “Do I have to call you Tiffany?”

Tim starts laughing. “I'd prefer it if you didn't.”

Kon kisses him, and that kiss becomes a second one, becomes a third one, becomes a whole string of kisses, a mountain range of earth-shaking moments that ends with Tim pressed against the wall with one of Kon's hands cupping the back of his head and the other on the small of his back, sliding down to the lace waistband of his underwear. When they break for air Kon shakes his head, trying to clear the sudden fog from his eyes, and says, “So does this make me your boyfriend _officially_ now?”

“Kiss me again,” Tim says, looking _entirely_ too pleased with himself, “and we can talk about that.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Cover Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041312) by [forzandopod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forzandopod/pseuds/forzandopod)




End file.
